


ShinyZango's The Nutcracker - Night of the Nutcrackers' Requiem

by LionessGamer



Series: The Ghost Nutcracker [1]
Category: Nußknacker und Mausekönig | Nutcracker and the Mouse King - E. T. A. Hoffmann, Shinyzango's The Nutcracker
Genre: AND HIS FAVORITE HUMAN GIRL, EVERYONE'S FAVORITE WOODEN BOY, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lost Love, history of the nutcrackers, let them be happy, more tags, shinyzango
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 08:18:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13760025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LionessGamer/pseuds/LionessGamer
Summary: WARNING: Story is long because it’s a story within a story and there’s quite a bit of world-building! Do not let that discourage you! Journey forth!Fanfiction for Shinyzango's The Nutcracker.On their journey to defeat the Mouse King, Hans and Clara are always running into trouble. However, on this night, danger chases them to something more, a tale that will show them that their journey is part of an even greater one. For they are the final saga to the lost story of the Nutcrackers.





	ShinyZango's The Nutcracker - Night of the Nutcrackers' Requiem

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Nutcracker](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/359193) by ShinyZango. 



> I was listening to a few love songs, rereading my favorite childhood series (Warriors), and looking through Shinyzango’s nutcracker collection, when something started to bother me. I know being a nutcracker must be hell for Hans, but does it have to be to nightmare portions? 
> 
> I just think Hans is painting nutcrackers in general in a bad light because of his condition. I imagine that there must have been plenty of nice nutcrackers living their lives happily before they disappeared. So, I feel like making ‘being a nutcracker’ as something to fear is a bit like “insulting the dead.” It’s even worse if the Nutcrackers were loyal soldiers (with their common, soldier design, it wouldn’t be farfetched). 
> 
> Believe me, I love the wooden boy and I love the way Shinyzango has adapted this story, but it’s ONLY that part that bothers me. 
> 
> Currently, nutcrackers are getting a bad reputation in the story. I just want nutcrackers to be seen as good things for once, instead of just being ‘ugly hunks of wood’ and ‘emotionless dolls’ with a tendency to turn rabid every now and then. I think it would help Hans out, both mentally and physically, if he’s given some good points on being one of them. Note that THIS IS NOT ME CRITICIZING SHINYZANGO’S WORK AT ALL, HER STORY AS A WHOLE IS COMING OUT AWESOME! THE REASON I’M DEFENDING NUTCRACKERS SO MUCH IS BECAUSE SHE MADE THEM AWESOME THROUGH HANS, OKAY!!!
> 
> So, I wrote a little piece on the matter . . . which ended up being MUCH longer than I intended. I ended up writing a story within a story! Some of the dialogue doesn’t sit right with me, but I tried my best. And since I’ve been listening to love songs (mostly Heart Stops Beating by Joshua Micah) and reading the tragic parts of the Warriors book series, I used a bit of tragedy (and some of Shinyzango’s angst drawings) to help deliver the Nutcracker backstory. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Dusk had fallen. The time had come once again for the crickets to sing their ancient chorus within the dark depths of the forest, filling the coming silence of night with their age-old songs.

Their song rang through the trees uninterrupted, until there was a pounding of sprinting of footsteps colliding with dirt and leaves. A man tore his way through the trees, eyes darting around the darkness surrounding him. He was in a panic, desperate to find the road back to town. The pained hisses of his precious cargo urged him on, forcing himself to run as fast as he could without tripping on the traitorous forest floor.

“Just hold on, Clara! We’ll be there soon! You’re going to be fine!” The girl in his arms answered with a breathy “Y-Yeah . . .”

At last, Hans’ greatest fear had come true. Clara had gotten hurt.

And what’s worse, something was wrong with her wounds.

Something terribly wrong.

The bleeding of the gashes on her right arm and face had slowed, but the pain had increased tenfold and seemed to be spreading. Clara could barely hold her ripped sleeve to her wound to stop the bleeding, the pressure she applied hurting her as if she was holding a brand to her arm. The jostling of Hans’ sprint did not help either. Tears ran down her face and her teeth were clenched, restricting her screams of pain to low groans.

Hans hoped and prayed he was heading the right way. They had been forced to escape into the woods, and while he had managed to outrun their pursuers, the environment was quickly becoming his new enemy. He had only his memory of how the road had turned and followed the tree-line on their earlier trek to estimate the direction towards it. However, without knowledge of these woods or even enough light to see any landmarks, Hans feared he was lost.

It terrified him. Clara needed help NOW.

Suddenly, in the distance, there was a bright, pure-white light, shining between the shadowed trees.

Desperate for any sort of help, Hans changed his direction towards it, calling out in case it was a person with a lamp. The light remained still, just hovering in the darkness. Hans pushed his wooden body as fast as it could go. Even if it wasn’t person, it could be the light of a lit path that would take them out of these woods.

But no matter how far he ran, he never seemed to get any closer. Confusion and terror dominated Hans’ mind as he relentlessly tried to pursue the light.

Then suddenly, he saw more lights joining it, more yellowish in their glow. Shortly after, he caught glimpses of the walls and poles on which these lights were situated. Some of these lights were soon revealed to be the windows of a building.

It wasn’t the road or the town, but Hans wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. One more squeak of pain from Clara and Hans was gunning for the lights.

He was at the door of the log cabin in no time. If he were not in such a panic, he would have admired the quaint, little home with its floral decorations and large garden growing around it in the lanterns’ light. But now was definitely not the time, not as Clara trembled in his arms.

First, he gently set her down on her feet, one arm keeping her tightly to him as she sagged against his side.

Hans’ fist hit the door so hard, the wood groaned and nearly splintered. He corrected himself, but that did not stop the bombardment of pounding knocks he let loose on the door.

“SOMEONE! ANYONE! Please! We need help!” He called out desperately. He stopped a few seconds to listen for a response. He tried to see into one of the windows as well, but silky curtains completely obscured the view.

He couldn’t sense any response and he prepared to try again, when the door flew open.

An elderly woman stood at the door, wrapped in colorful robes with snow-white curls peeking out from under her silk hood. The woman’s attention immediately went to Clara . . . or least, Hans guessed it did since the woman’s eyes were covered with some sort of blindfold.

“Oh my lord, what happened?” The old woman spoke in a soft, worried voice as she lifted a hand to Clara. Hans glanced down at his friend and cringed at her tearful, anguished expression. She was even starting to sweat. He looked back at the woman, tears coming to his own eyes.

“Please . . . help her.” At his plea, there was no hesitation in the woman as she stepped back and stood to the side of the door.

“Quickly, bring her in!” Hans carefully swept Clara back up into his arms and launched into the house. The house’s owner shut the door behind him and briskly led him deeper into the home. Within seconds, they reached a room full of plants and herbs. She pointed at a cot in the far left corner.

“Lay her there.” Hans wasted no time. Reaching the small bed, he gently laid his dear friend on top of its soft comforter. He hesitated to move away, instinctively protective, but a gentle yet firm hand pushed him out of the way. Hans quickly moved aside as the woman reached for Clara. She clicked her tongue and then carefully placed her weathered hands over Clara’s to move it away from the claw marks. Moving the shreds of clothes away from the wound as well, the woman clicked her tongue again before turning to Hans.

“What happened?” She asked, her tone now serious. Hans started to shake.

“W-We were taking the road to the mountains and . . . and we were ambushed by a patrol of mice.” Hans looked down at the sword at his hip and then at his hands, holding them up in despair.

“I couldn’t . . . I wasn’t . . . I tried to keep us safe.” His hands curled into fists.

“But I couldn’t and a-a big one attacked Clara and . . . started . . . _clawing_ at her . . . like an animal.” He lifted his hands to push on the sides of his head.

“I almost . . . I nearly . . .”

“Hans, stop.” Clara’s voice cut into his panic and he looked up to see her giving him a determined look, despite the pain she was in.

“Y-You did what you could, Hans. You saved me and you got us both out of there.” She winced as the old woman poked and prodded her injuries, but that didn’t stop her from smiling up at him.

“And besides, I-I couldn’t just let them gang up on you like that. I had to do something! I don’t mind my share of battle wounds i-i-if it means keeping you safe too.” Hans simply stared at her as she struggled with the pain, completely conflicted.

“A-A-Are you doing alright, Hans? N-Nothing hurts?” The nutcracker blinked at her question before looking down at himself. His arms were covered with hack marks done by swords and axes, two or three more decorating his chest and back. A few of the cuts had cracks at the edges. Hans shook his head.

“I’m fine, Clara. It’s you I’m worried about.” He looked down at her bleeding arm and her shaking body, cringing at the sight. His mind began to cave in on itself in terrible worry.

Suddenly, both he and Clara started in shock when the old woman took her fingers, which were covered in Clara’s blood from her prodding, and tapped one against her tongue, tasting it. She was still for a few seconds before humming in confirmation and shuffling away from the bed towards the shelves of jars.

“You’re going to be fine, my girl. Given that you’re still conscious, there’s still plenty of time to get that poison out of your system.” Both of her guests froze at her words as she continued to work. Clara’s flushed face paled in fright at the news, but Hans had a look of downright horror etched into his face.

“P-Poison?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but their caretaker heard it.

“Yes. Some of the mice like to dip their nails in a toxic brew, similar to spider venom, to give them an edge in battle. It’s far more deadly when wet, but dry poison claws can still be dangerous if they scratch up their opponent enough.” The woman wiped the blood from her hands and started to grab different plants and mixings. The nutcracker behind her fell into a nearby chair, head in his hands. His hat fell to the floor with a faint thud. Clara’s attention snapped to him, recognizing his distressed state.

“Your wounds are a bit deep, but luckily that mouse had some dry claws. Otherwise . . .” The old woman shook her head, finishing up her work in record time.

“Nevermind you that! Here you go, my dear.” The woman came to Clara’s side with a small bowl of murky, green liquid. She urged Clara to sit up and then slowly brought the bowl closer to her lips.

“I suggest gulping this down, love. It tastes something awful, but it will have that nasty toxin neutralized in no time.” After staring nervously at the mixture, a wave of pain quickly had her gulping the whole bowl down, grimacing at the aftertaste.

“There we are! The pain should start fading soon. But until then, I need to tend to those nasty cuts of yours.” The woman put the bowl down on the nearby table and stepped away.

“But to do that, I need to make a run to my garden to fetch some herbs I need. Rest for a bit and I’ll be right back.” The woman began to leave, but paused when Clara called out to her.

“W-Wait! I want to thank you for your kindness and hospitality, Miss . . .?” The woman smiled good-naturedly.

“You may call me Althea, child. Now, sit tight.” The old woman’s head turned to the side for a moment with a look of concern before finally leaving the room. Once she was gone, Clara turned her gaze to what the woman seemed to be looking at.

She found Hans, who hadn’t moved from his defeated position in the chair. Clara sighed softly, ignoring the still radiating pain of the cuts on her arm and face.

“Hans?” She called to him. Her friend didn’t react. She was about to call to him again when a broken whisper reached her ears.

“It’s all my fault . . .”

It was silent for a few seconds after that, before Clara nearly leapt out of the bed with how fast she got up. Ignoring the pain of her still bleeding arm, the girl threw her arms around him and held on tight, pressing her cheek into his hair. Hans froze.

“No, Hans. It is not your fault. It has NEVER been your fault.” She hated how broken he had sounded. She nuzzled him as she hugged him close, hoping to comfort him.

“ **BUT IT IS, CLARA**!” She narrowly missed taking a hit to the chin when Hans shot up out of his seat, yelling in anguish. Hans gently but firmly pushed her away, standing away from her with tears streaming down his face. His expression kept shifting between anger and despair as his fists shook at his sides. Clara was shocked still.

“We should have stopped for the night like you told me to! I should have listened, but I wanted so badly to get rid of our curses that I urged you to keep going! I should have known that that was a horrible idea! I should have known the mice would be patrolling for us!” The nutcracker’s whole body began to shake.

“I put you in **_danger_**! I couldn’t protect you! Because I made another terrible mistake! Because I’s useless in this damned body! Because I cracked that stupid nut!” Hans slammed his hands down over his eyes and threw his head back, completely distort as Clara looked on in horror.

“Y-You should be safe at home! Happily living your life with your family! N-Not here . . . ripped up an-an-and **_poisoned,_** trying to fix **MY MISTAKES**!!!” That last scream of anguish seemed to drain the last of his energy from him, hands lowering to hang at his sides. Then, he looked at her with the most devastated expression she had ever seen, making her heart clench.

“You could . . . you could have . . .” Once again, Hans found himself trapped within Clara’s embrace, this time with her arms locking around his neck with no intention of being pushed away again. Hans could not help but remember that they had been in this same position before. She made him feel better that day.

“But I didn’t. I’m still here. We’re both still here because you did protect us; every single time.” Unable to resist, Hans wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as he tried not to sob into her shoulder.

It wasn’t working.

“Hans . . . you can’t keep blaming yourself for everything that goes wrong.” Hans could just barely feel her hands combing through the hair along his nape. Hans was surprised to find himself calming down at the simple act. He listened to her as she continued. 

“We all make mistakes, Hans, and we can’t always control what happens. But that’s what makes us **_human_**. We make mistakes and then we learn from them. And my mistake was letting you take on the whole world all by yourself. I couldn’t let you fight all alone. Not again. I need to protect you as much as you need to protect me! It was my choice that got me hurt in that fight, not yours.” She lifted her head from his shoulder and smiled up at him, glad to see that his crying was receding.

“But no matter the consequences of my choices, I don’t regret them. I could never regret them. Now, all I need is for you to not regret them for me." Her expression became serious as her hands left his neck to gently gasp his face, pulling him down slightly so they were eye to eye as she spoke.

"It was **NOT** your fault, Hans. Not with your curse, not with mine, and certainly not with my injuries. The only ones at fault here are the mice and the Mouse King. **_They_** chose to torment this kingdom. **_They_** chose to curse us and hurt me, not **_you_**. **_You_** chose to help, in any way you could.” Her gaze softened as she wiped a tear from Hans’ wooden cheek with her thumb.

“So please Hans, don’t try to carry all of this weight on your shoulders, alright? Especially alone. Heh, that's what I'm here for and I’m not leaving your side any time soon!" She flashed him a bright smile and Hans managed to work up the strength to give a small one back.

Somehow, once again, she had managed to cheer him up in no time. There was just no end to how amazing this girl could be. He still wasn’t completely convinced that he wasn’t at fault, but he was willing to try her way of thinking. Just for her. Clara’s hands slide from his face to his chest as he gave his answer.

“I’ll . . . I’ll try.” Her smile widened in response and he would have widened his too . . . if he hadn’t seen her face twitch as she tried to conceal her a sudden wave of pain. His eyes traveled to the torn skin and dried blood on her cheek. He couldn’t stop the lingering guilt from growing in his chest. He looked down at his feet, not wanting her to see him getting upset again. Unfortunately, the act itself gave him away.

“Hans, what is it?” Hans half-expected her to sound irritated, but he could only hear genuine worry in her voice. A part of him wondered where she got all of her patience from.

Hans sighed in defeat, taking her by the wrists and stepping back.

“I just . . .” He looked back up at her.

“I just wish that I could do better. You should never have gotten hurt. And . . . and I don’t ever want to see you getting hurt again. But . . . what am I supposed to do? I’m just a nutcracker now. Nothing moves like it should! Nothing feels like it should! And that fight . . . that fight just confirmed that I still don’t know how to wield a sword properly. And then . . . and then I almost . . .” His gaze dropped back down, but this time it stopped on his hands, which completely engulfed Clara’s. His depressed stare slowly turned into a glare as he studied the vast differences in their hands.

“I hate being like this, being a nutcracker. Everything would be so much easier if I wasn’t this useless, ugly hunk of wood.” Hans continued to glare at his own hands as Clara opened her mouth to argue.

“HOW **DARE** YOU!!!” Both of them jumped sky-high as the angry roar echoed in the room. Hans released Clara and spun around to see their host standing in the doorway, her lips pulled back in a snarl. The leaves she had picked for Clara were being crushed in her fury.

“DON’T YOU EVER SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT AGAIN! I WILL NOT HAVE THE NUTCRACKERS INSULTED IN MY HOUSE!” Hans’ eyes went wide and he backed away as the old woman stomped towards him.

“You.” She growled. If he were still human, he’d be sweating bullets at the amount of anger being directed straight at him. She jabbed a finger at him, making him flinch, then swung it down to point at the chair he had vacated.

“Sit down.” There was a stern authority in her voice, so strong that Hans was compelled to obey. He had himself seated within seconds, hoping to avoid any conflict. He had picked up his fallen hat in the process and slowly placed it on the ground beside him, afraid of moving too fast.

With a huff, Althea turned away from the cowed nutcracker and went straight to the bed, moving with a speed and ferocity that contradicted her small, frail appearance. Putting her leaves down on the side table, she grabbed the pillow and transferred it to the foot of the bed. She then turned to Clara and gently, but tensely, grabbed her arm. Clara flinched, but let herself be pulled back to the cot.

“You’ll need to lay down with your head at the foot of the bed. It will be easier to fix you up if I don’t have to lean over you to do it.” Once she had Clara down on the bed once more, Althea gathered her leaves and returned to her mixing table. Silence reined between them as Althea gathered supplies from around the room and mixed up the necessary poultice. With Althea busy, Clara took the time to look around the room.

It was a medium-sized room filled with storage cabinets and shelves. Covering these shelves and walls were all kinds of dried plants and bottled ingredients. It looked very much like a healer’s den, a fact that had her realize just how lucky they had been to find Althea. However, there was one feature that seemed out of place in a medicine den. On every surface of wall that was not occupied by hanging plants, there were paintings. At least ten of them throughout the room, most of them illustrations of different landscapes. She began to study them one by one, admiring them.

“Has the pain started to recede yet?” The girl was startled out of her thoughts at the sudden break in silence, but she quickly recovered with a nod of her head.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s not nearly as bad as before. That stuff works fast!” She kept a chipper tone in her voice in an attempt to lighten the tense mood. It seemed to work, as Althea smiled and Hans sighed in relief.

“Please, child. Call me Althea. Now, let’s get you back to proper condition. Hans!” The nutcracker jumped in his seat at the old woman calling his name.

“Y-yes, ma’am?” he asked nervously. Althea gestured to the supplies beside her.

“Place these on the chest at the foot of the bed and then move your chair to sit by her legs. Move my stool to sit in front of her shoulder. I’m nearly done with this.” Hans hesitated for a moment, unsure, before getting up and moving to the table. He gathered the supplies into his arms; several pieces of cloth, bandages, a brown bottle, and a spool of thread with a curved needle. Althea completed her task just as Hans finished his. The wooden man backed away as Althea took a seat on the stool and placed the poultice on the chest with the other items.

“Sit down, Hans. That chair is for you.” She turned her head so he could see her face, her mouth set in a grim frown.

“There’s a reason I waited for the pain to die down first. I’m about to put her through even more of it, so I need you to be there for her and hold her down if it comes to it.” Hans froze and Clara went still, both filled with dismay and fear. He stared at Althea, unsure.

“Are . . . are you sure you know what you’re doing? I-I mean, you have a blindfold on and, uh. . .” The woman raised her hand to stop him, knowing where he was going.

“Losing one of your senses does not make you useless. And I’ve done this plenty of times with a blindfold on, thank you very much.” She waved him over, ignoring the stunned silence her words had produced in him.

“I’ve been moving around and doing my work as accurately as any seeing person, haven’t I?” Hans’ mouth opened and closed as he tried to think of a response. But she was right. If she really was blind, it obviously hadn’t caused her any problems. Besides, at the moment, she was the only one who could help Clara. The last thing he wanted was for her to suffer just because he had doubts.

With determination overtaking his features, Hans marched over and sat down beside Althea, taking Clara’s hand in his.

“It’s going to be okay, Clara.” He smiled gently at her as Althea placed some cloth under her injured arm and her head before reaching for the bottle. His dear friend gave him a shaky smile in return, giving a small nod. The nutcracker squeezed her hand. She was always the one to comfort him throughout their adventure, throughout his insecurities. Now, he would make damn sure he was there for her.

Althea uncorked the bottle and leaned forward with it in one hand, a cloth rag in the other. She stopped her advance to turn her head to Clara’s.

“I have to clean the wounds first. This will get rid of any possible infections and remaining poison, but it is going to be very painful. Are you ready?” The brave girl drew in a trembling breath as she closed her eyes, exhaling slowly before nodding her head.

“Very well. On three . . . one--.” Right after one, Althea poured the bottle’s clear liquid onto the trio of claw marks on the girl’s arm. Clara’s body went rigid and her eyes snapped open.

She screamed.

It felt like the woman had poured pure acid on her arm, the burning feeling like her arm was stuck over a fire. The gashes were even sizzling in the heat. Her arm jerked as she instinctively tried to pull it away, but both Althea’s and Hans’ grips kept it in place. An urgent word from Althea and Hans was on his feet, leaning over Clara to hold her down with both hands. Clara cried out in instinctive distress.

“Clara! Clara! Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. Sssshhhhh, you’re going to be alright. Look! Look at me! I know it hurts, but please try not to move. You’re going to reopen your wounds!” Fresh tears ran down her face as Althea began mopping up the fluids, cleaning the blood and grim from the wounds. Through her tears, she could see that Hans was nearly on top of her, his right knee pressed into the cot as he held her arms down. She looked up to see him looking down at her with a tortured expression, the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes.

Clara screamed again when more of the liquid was splashed onto the gashes, her body shaking with agony. Hans continued to talk her through it as the cuts were wiped and dried once more. Whimpering, she glanced over to watch Althea discard her cloth and grab a new one.  She reached a boney hand over and lightly pushed Clara’s face to the side.

“Keep looking in that direction.” Clara obeyed and tried to bite her lip in order to keep herself from screaming again.

It didn’t work. Her mouth snapped open in a pained yell the moment the burning liquid was splashed on her cheek, the pain burrowing into the cut there. She caught the sight of Hans flinching in the corner of her eye as she screamed. Her breaths were quick and heavy as Althea cleaned the final cut.

At last, the blind healer put the bottle down and gave Clara time to recuperate as she prepared the needle and thread for the two, deep cuts on her arm. The girl in pain closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, breathing deeply through her nose to try fighting through the remaining agony of the cleaning. She moaned as her arm throbbed in time with her heartbeat. The hand that was not in a death grip with hers lifted from her uninjured arm to press a hand against her uninjured cheek, wiping away her tears.

She opened her eyes to see Hans, who stared back with a brittle smile and clinging tears.

“H-H-Hey! You see? The worst part is over. You did it! Y-You’re going to be fine, just a little bit to go!” He was trying his best to cheer her on. Her trembling, left hand lifted to hold his hand to her cheek as she gave him her own brittle smile.

“T-T-Thank y-you, Hans.”  The man nodded, caressing her check with his thumb in an attempt to sooth her further. The moment didn’t last long though, as Althea returned to her position with the sickled needle ready.

“Alright, love. Just a little suturing and we can move on to the pain-free part. Ready?” The young girl gave a shaky nod before turning her head to bury her face in Hans’ palm. Althea took a moment to get a feel for the two main gashes, clicking her tongue, before starting a quick pace. Clara whimpered and moaned with every dig of the needle, cringing at the sharp stings amongst the throbbing pain. Hans resumed his soothing words, tightening his hold on her right hand as her left clung to the hand that cradled her face.

Althea quickly finished the first cut and moved on to the second. Within a few minutes, she was done, gently pulling at the sutures to make sure they held. Satisfied, she leaned back and traded the needle for the bowl she had prepared. Carefully, she took a small amount of the mixture into her hand and smeared a thin layer over the wounds. Clara hissed at first, but her body quickly relaxed as the numbing portion of the cream did its work. After doing the same to the cut on her face, Althea wiped off her hand and picked up the bandages.

Hans gingerly released the hold he had on Clara and slowly moved away from her, giving her a relieved smile as he did. Hans sat back in his seat and watched as Clara’s injuries were bandaged and Clara herself relaxed.

Once done with plastering a small bandage to Clara’s cheek cut, Althea got up and started to collect the supply scraps and bloody rags.

“There we are, sweetheart. Soon to be good as new! Now, you just rest there while I dispose of these. When I get back, we’ll discuss what to do next.” She shuffled towards the doorway, but then stopped. Turning her head to Hans, she smiled.

“Thank you for your assistance, Hans the Nutcracker. I can tell she’s in very good hands.” And with that, she vanished into the hall. Hans stared after her in surprise, but turned to Clara when he felt a tug on his arm. She looked tired. Tears still clung to her eyes and her face was flushed red from the pain, but a bright, wide smile graced her as she gazed up at him.

“She’s right, you know. That would have been so much worse if it weren’t for you. I don’t think I could have handled it. Thank you.” His surprise grew at her statement, preventing him from responding immediately. Then, his eyes softened. He leaned forward with his elbows on the cot and captured her hand between both of his.

“Well, I don’t know what I’d do without you, Clara. I’m glad I could have helped you for once.” The girl on the bed snorted, giving the nutcracker a look.

“You’re always helping me, Hans! I would have never gotten this far without you!” She flashed him an affectionate smile, her eyes warm with a faint blush decorating her cheeks.

“I would be lost without you, Hans. I’m glad that we’re in this together.” Hans could have sworn he felt something flutter in his chest. With a light blush of his own, he smiled back bashfully.

Clara sighed contently, the pain of the procedure starting to fade away. She stared up at the ceiling for a moment, appreciating the moment of peace. Then she lifted her head to look around, a bit dissatisfied with laying there with nothing to do. The first object in front of her caught her eye and she studied it, finding it interesting. Then she froze, her thoughts coming to a halt.

Hans had been looking around as well, but he immediately noticed her tensing up, the hand still between his suddenly clenching one of his fingers. Her wide eyes and gasping mouth do not calm his concern.

“Clara? What’s wrong?” The girl in question opened and closed her mouth a few times before turning to Hans with a shocked expression. She lifted the hand that was not in Hans’ grasp and pointed.

“Hans? What does that look like to you?” Hans blinked in confusion at her question, putting her hand down and then turning his head to the direction she was pointing in.

There, on the wall over the cot, was a realistic portrait of a man in heavy armor, standing in front of what looked like the branches of a Weeping Willow tree.

He was young looking, about Clara’s age. He had bright blue eyes and snow-white hair that was pulled away from his face in a short ponytail. The painting stopped at his hips, but his top half gave plenty of evidence that he was a distinguished warrior. Shiny, blue and white-silver armor arched over his shoulders and chest, his shoulder plates rising around the sides of his head to act as neck guards. The armor continued down his arms and stomach, some parts engraved with swirling patterns and the Royal Insignia was etched into his chest plate. There was a royal-blue, hooded cape draped across his back, attaching to him from underneath his shoulder plates. Hans could even see the hilt of a sword peeking out from over his shoulder.

“Um, it’s a portrait? It’s just a painting of a . . .”

When he saw it, his eyes went wide and he stopped mid-sentence. Looking closer, the shape of the man’s face and nose gave off warning bells. Also, the beginnings of his forearms, despite being encased in armor, were far too big to be natural. And just-visible at the base of his neck, nearly eclipsed by the lip of his chest armor, was an open slot.

This man wasn’t human.

But that wasn’t the shocking part. There was one more feature that had Hans’ mouth hanging open.

There were lines starting at the corners of his mouth and running down to the bottom of his square chin.

Only one race of doll soldiers had that unique, separate jaw-piece.

“He’s . . . he’s a nutcracker . . .”

Neither of them had ever seen another nutcracker in this world, neither in person nor in pictures. Hans continued to stare in amazement, as the nutcracker in the painting stared back. The painted doll’s stance was stoic and intimidating, but his blue eyes gazed out at him with a look of . . . kindness . . . and understanding. There was a soft smile decorating his pale face.

Hans began to feel uncomfortable. It was as if the man in the painting was suddenly standing in the room with them, studying him. Hans jumped for the umpteenth time that night when Althea reentered the room, clapping her hands together.

“Alright. Let’s see here.” Both startled occupants of the room watched as she moved to one of the cabinets and began rummaging through it.

“I think you both should stay here tonight, and maybe for a second night if you can afford it. I want to make sure you start healing properly and then, I want to get everything prepared for treating and maintaining your injuries for after you leave.” Pausing in her gathering, she turned her head to ‘look’ over her shoulder at them.

“Does that sound good to you both?” Clara recovered first and flashed the woman a bright smile from where she lay.

“Oh, yes! If it’s no trouble! Thank you very much, Althea!” The attention of the two women then turned to Hans as the nutcracker stood up from his seat. He turned to Althea and formally bowed to her.

“I owe you a great debt for saving Clara. Please accept my gratitude and my apologies for upsetting you earlier.” He stayed in his bow, anxiously awaiting her response. Althea regarded him with surprise, turning away from the cabinet with a jar in her hands. Then, a soft smile overcame her surprise. Clara smiled as well, feeling a bit proud of her friend.

“Your apology is accepted, but you may keep your gratitude. I am not one to let anyone suffer, much less ones with kind hearts. You owe me nothing.” Hans lifted his head up to Althea, about to protest, but he thought better of it. He didn’t want to upset her again. Instead, he nodded in acceptance as Althea gave him a small bow in return.

The exchange over, Althea approached Hans with the sealed jar, bringing along a dull knife and a rag as well.

“Now then. Let’s get you tended to.” The nutcracker straightened out of his bow and gave her a confused look.

“Huh?” The woman stopped in front of him with an unamused frown.

“You have hack marks all over you, boy! Now that she’s on the road to recovery, we need to fix you up as well, unless you want to run the chance of falling apart out there!” She didn’t need to say another word as Hans panicked and quickly plopped himself down in his seat, ready for whatever she was going to do to him. Clara giggled at the sight, causing Hans to shoot her a pleading glance.

Chuckling in amusement, the old healer sat down on her stool in front of him, placing her items on the chest at the end of the bed. After opening the jar and applying the high-grade resin to her knife, she gently grabbed hold of Hans’ right arm and felt for the cracks and divots.

“Now, hold still . . .”

At the first cut, she expertly applied the resin and smoothed it over the mark. Taking the rag, she quickly wiped away the excess. Both her visitors watched as Althea quickly made her way up the wooden arm, filling in every, single flaw. Once she finished with that arm, she stood up to move on to his chest and back. Clara’s eyes followed her as she did and, by happenstance, her eyes were drawn back to the painting above them.

Curiosity overtaking her, Clara asked the question that had been plaguing her mind.

“Um, Althea? If I may ask, who is that in the painting above the bed?” Said woman paused in her repairing of Hans’ back, her head lifting to Clara at her question. Hans looked up as well, his body hunched over to give Althea room to work.

“Hm? Oh! Oh, that’s  . . . an old friend of mine.” Clara perked up at that, immediately delighted. She carefully pushed herself up, to Hans’ slight panic, and sat back against the wall, leaning forward with interest.

“Really? You knew a nutcracker?” She asked excitedly. The old woman smiled gently at her as Hans listened to them, interested as well.

“Yes, my dear. Back when I was a young girl.” Althea turned her head up to the painting, a kind of fondness radiating from her. If she could see Althea’s eyes, Clara was certain they would have a far-away look in them, lost in memories.

“His name was Daemon.” She said as she returned to her work on Hans. Clara tilted her head in confusion.

“Demon?” Her question made the older woman snort in contained laughter. Althea shook her head as she moved to Hans’ left arm.

“No, no, no, dear! DAE-mon! Daemon! It means ‘guardian spirit.’” Her eyebrows loosened and a bittersweet smile appeared on her lips. 

“It was very fitting.” She whispered. At her somber tone, Clara quieted down, guessing that she was approaching a sensitive topic. Hans ducked his head down a bit, picking up on sadder timbre as well. Both her patients waited in silence as Althea finished up the last of Hans’ injuries. With a final brush of her cloth, she stepped back and began to clean off her knife.

“There. I think I got all of them. Try not to move too much until they dry, yeah? Then we can try giving you a new coat of paint tomorrow.” She smiled encouragingly at the nutcracker. Hans felt uncomfortable with the idea of getting painted, but he agreed nonetheless.

“Uh . . . yes, ma’am.” He flinched, bewildered, when Althea whipped a clean portion of his arm with the rag.

“Call me Althea, Hans. Ma’am was my mother’s name!” She gave a whole-hearted laugh at her own statement. Clara giggled along with her and Hans couldn’t resist chuckling himself, his tension dying down.

Still chuckling, Althea retrieved her jar of resin and walked away to put her tools back in storage. As she did so, an idea occurred to her. Items put away, she turned to her guests and leaned back against the cabinet. She regarded the two, frowning slightly as she considered her next move. The two under her attention glanced at each other, unsure of what was going on.

Hans began to fidget when Althea seemed to stare at him in particular. At last, she seemed to come to a decision. She pushed off the cabinet to approach a second chair in the other corner of the room, pulling it to the center of the room as she spoke.

“Would you mind if I told you both a story?” Both of them blinked in surprise. They turned to each other for answers, before Clara’s face broke out into an excited grin and she turned back to Althea.

Her love for stories always won out.

“Oh, I won’t mind hearing one, no! Hans?” She turned back to her companion as she tried to get comfortable leaning against the wall. The man shook his head in response.

“No, ma--, I mean . . . No, I won’t mind one.” Althea gave a soft laugh as she eased herself into her seat in front of them. She sat quietly for a moment with her hands folded in her lap, her two guests watching and waiting for her to speak. Relaxing back into her chair, her head turned to the treasured painting above.

She smiled gently and then began.

“I met Daemon when I was fifteen years old, when he first moved to our village. He had been a member of the Nutcracker Regiment, a military unit created many generations ago. However, he resigned after a decade of service for a reason he never divulged. He would always become silent and gloomy when asked.” Clara was immediately captivated, listening intently with shining eyes. Hans had a similar reaction, though not as intense as Clara’s.

He had known that many of the nutcrackers of old had been soldiers, but he hadn’t known that a whole regiment had been dedicated to them! The history of the nutcrackers had never been a popular topic within the kingdom in Hans’ years. And on the rare occasion that they were spoken of, they were almost always described as ticking time bombs, only ever good for biting and cracking things.  Now with genuine interest, Hans continued to listen as Althea extended a hand towards the painting.

“He was part of the youngest generation of nutcrackers, only a bit younger than me at the time, so he was designed better armored and younger looking than earlier nutcrackers. He was built like a knight from the English lands, with a full-body metal suit and even a broadsword. Very different from the traditional soldiers of our native lands. He even had some real metal plating on his shoulders and chest, very unusual for any toy soldier.” Clara watched as Hans gazed up at Daemon and then back down at himself, comparing their builds.

“I had seen a few nutcrackers before when they passed through town, but never one like him. So, of course, I was fascinated the moment I saw him. I think I asked him over a dozen, different questions about himself before he could speak his first word to me!” Both women giggled at the image of the hulking soldier being hassled by a young girl. Hans smiled at the thought.

“Luckily, he was very patient and very sweet with this overexcited, blond-haired girl who was mauling him with questions. He bent down in front of me and put a hand on my shoulder, stopping my chatter. Then, he told me that he would answer all my questions . . . if we could take turns.” Althea put a hand to her check, holding her arm up with the other. Her smile grew in the delight of the memory.

“This nutcracker, this shining knight wanted to know about little, dainty me! He told me that I could ask the first question. I was ecstatic, but suddenly very shy. I became so nervous that I blurted out the very first thing that came to mind. So, I asked him if I could paint him a portrait.”

Clara’s head shot up from where it was perched on her hand, blinking in astonishment. She glanced back and forth between the painting and the old woman before her.

“You mean . . . **_you_** painted that portrait of Daemon? At fifteen years old?!” Hans was amazed as well, looking between the woman and the painting as Clara had done. Althea chuckled.

“Why, yes I did! In fact, all the paintings in this house are mine, created throughout my years. My mother used to say that I was a master the moment I first dipped a brush in paint.” She continued to laugh as the girl and the nutcracker gaped at her. She waved a hand at them.

“Anywho, Daemon was surprised and uncertain at first. But then, he smiled at me and agreed to my request. He promised to meet me at my favorite tree the next day. I was so excited, I ran off to get ready before he could ask me his first question!” Soft laughter filled the room again.

“He was there that day, as promised. We spent that afternoon getting to know each other, finally playing our back-and-forth question game as I painted.”

“I had to have him come back to that spot for the next few days when he wasn’t working around town. I had never painted armor before and I wanted to make sure the painting was perfect. Already, the man was too special to me to disappoint.” Clara glanced over at Hans, his back to her.

“He would stand beneath the willow branches and I would try my best to replicate every detail. We would talk and laugh. We would take breaks and just admire the scenery together. He tried several times to sneak a peek at my work and I would swat him away every time.” A fond smile was a constant presence upon her lips as she floated through her memories.

“A few days later, I finally finished my magnum opus. We met at the same spot and I presented it to him.”

“The look on his face was . . . nothing short of genuinely humbled. He looked at me . . . like he was a starving boy and I had just offered him a lifetime supply of food! He held that portrait and said to me, ‘I hope and pray, that one day, I will be worthy of how you see me.’” Althea shook her head, exasperated at the past.

“I didn’t know what he meant by that. I had only painted what I could see. But the gratitude in his expression and his kind praises kept me from questioning it further. I was just too happy and too young to dig deeper. I could barely stand still when he accepted the painting and asked if we could continue meeting, as friends.”

“Friendship had never been brought up between us before, and I was over the moon about it! When I got home that night, my parents got to hear every detail of Daemon’s reaction and how wonderful it was going to be to be friends with him.” A big grin lit up her face as Clara laughed and Hans smiled. The woman’s own smile grew fond once more as she lifted a hand to her heart.

“And friends we were; the best of friends. For years, we would meet up after work or school and do all sorts of things, whatever we could think of.”

“I learned early on that Daemon was very wise and very skilled for his age. He was a phenomenal soldier, but he was also a perceptive intellectual. He was scholarly and philosophical . . . a warrior with a love for poetry!” She relaxed further into her seat with a contented sigh.

“Some of my best memories are of us just relaxing and talking under the willow tree. Daemon would be reading a book or trying to find the right words for his newest poem, cracking nuts for me as he lost himself in the writings. I would be beside him working on my newest sketch or watching over his shoulder, reading with him or helping him figure out the next line of his poem.”

“Sometimes, we’d switch! I would try writing poetry and he would try sketching. It was a right laugh at first. Neither of us were very good at it. But over time, we ended up switching so many times that we eventually got fairly decent at our different talents.”

“But other times, he would practice his swordplay instead and I would try to sketch him. We even had a dummy put out there at some point for him to practice on. Although he was technically retired, he always said that he couldn’t let himself or his sword get too ‘rusty.’” Althea leaned forward a bit, seemingly looking straight at Hans. Her sudden attention made him uneasy, but the uneasiness turned to disbelief at her next words.

“It was unbelievable how well he moved! It always amazed me how graceful and swift his mechanical body could be as he trained. I couldn’t see anything standing a chance against him.” While Clara looked surprised, Hans looked absolutely dumbstruck. He gaped at the older woman as he franticly tried to imagine how a body like his could be considered graceful. He desperately wanted to ask the question, ‘HOW?!’, but Althea continued on before he could voice it.

“Life was good in those years, so full of happy memories. Walking through the forest, gazing up at the stars. Telling stories and making jokes. Writing poems and painting masterpieces. The people of our town called us inseparable.” Althea’s soft smile faded away. She hesitated for a moment, before pushing the hood of her robes off of her head. Reaching back, she began to untie her blindfold. It came loose.

“Then one day, this happened.”

The cloth fell away and Clara should not prevent her gasp of horror, her hands flying to her mouth. Hans stiffened in his seat, unable to look away.

In near perfect parallel lines, two horrible looking scars cut across her face over her eyes. The top of the bridge of her nose had noticeable notches in it where the claw marks passed over. Her once bright green eyes had been reduced to completely white color, her destroyed eyelids nearly see-through from the cuts.

“Oh, Althea . . .” Clara whispered sadly from behind her hands. Althea heard her, sighing as she continued.

“I was nineteen at the time. Daemon had to help our lumberjack process some logs for construction and couldn’t come with me on our weekly forest stroll. I had grown up in these woods, so walking alone through the forest didn’t bother me. I knew the trails and paths like the back of my hand and nothing bad had ever happened here before.” The scarred woman didn’t notice that her arms had lifted to hug herself as the terror of that day began to fill her.

“But that evening, a scouting party of three mouse soldiers, armed with sabers and daggers, had trespassed into our kingdom and were hiding out in these woods. They attacked me from seemingly out of nowhere. They knocked me down and surrounded me, slashing their weapons at me whenever I would try to get away.” Both Clara and Hans cringed. They had only just an hour ago been in a similar situation.

“I remember one of them was missing some fingers on one hand. He grabbed me with it and put me in a headlock, choking me. I was desperate and so very afraid. I bit him as hard as I could. It tasted disgusting, but it allowed me to escape . . . to about ten feet away.” Althea gritted her teeth, expressing the frustration of the past event.

“I think I tripped on a root. I fell hard and as I tried to get up, the big rat that I had bitten caught up with me and kicked me hard in my side, rolling me over.” She lifted her head to them, her weathered face tinged with old despair.

“The very last thing I ever saw was his deformed hand, with its two, long, dirty claws, swinging straight for my face.” One hand lifted to gingerly touch the tip of a scar beside her left eye, feeling the slight trench with phantom pain. Hans and Clara watched her, dreading her next words.

“The pain was like nothing I had ever felt before. I screamed, tried to open my eyes, and then screamed some more. I could feel the blood running down my face. I could hear them laughing over my sobs, coming closer, and I was certain that my life was about to end.” She paused, lost in the dark memory. The other two anxiously waited, Hans’ grip tightening on the back of his chair. Finally, Althea continued with a haunted voice.

“But then, I heard one of them scream. Then, there was a horrible gurgling sound and the other two started shrieking. I remember one of them yelling, ‘NUTCRACKER!’ before his voice cut off. I heard what sounded like a struggle and then several thuds, apparently their bodies hitting the ground.” Clara looked caught between feeling relieved and horrified. Hans’s expression, however, was blank, but his emotions were in chaos as he listened to Althea’s story.

“After that, the only sounds I could hear was that of my own sobs. Then, I felt Daemon’s arms lift me up and he started running. He started apologizing, begging me again and again for forgiveness as he raced to get me back to our village.” Han’s blank mask broke at those words, his face becoming pained as he connected with Daemon.

Her story was getting far too close to how he felt, to what had happened to them, to Clara. What had happened to Althea and Daemon could have happened to him and Clara, had he been even more useless in that fight.

He shivered violently at the thought of Clara with those ruined eyes . . . or-or worse . . . her lifeless body in his arms. He could barely keep himself together in the face of those thoughts. Clara noticed and reached over to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Daemon took me straight to my mother, sending a messenger to report the incident to the Royal Guard as she worked on me. She was one of the best healers in the kingdom, but in the end, even she could do nothing to save my eyes.” Sighing, she lifted her blindfold back into position, once more hiding the old scars, and began to retie it as she continued.

“When she told me that I would never be able to see again . . . I was devastated. My sight had been vital to so many important aspects of my life. How was I supposed to live my life without it?” Her hands fell limp in her lap once they finished with her blindfold. Her voice took on a somber tone as she once again focused on Hans.

“For some time, my mind was in a dark place. My eyes were forever useless and my face was mutilated. I regarded my blindness as a curse. I mourned and raged over my loss. Never again would I see the colors of the world or paint my masterpieces. Forever would I be a useless burden, an ugly wretch condemned to the darkness.” The nutcracker jolted as her words connected with him. He lowered his head as his hand rose to his chest, feeling for a heartbeat that was no longer there.

Althea grimaced as he did.

“Daemon blamed himself for my misery, no matter how much I told him otherwise. I would hear him tell himself again and again that it was his fault. That he made another terrible mistake. That he should have been there to protect me.” Hans bowed in on himself even further. Clara scooted across the bed to drape her arms around him. Althea’s words were hitting home.

Althea went silent for a few moments as Clara tried to calm Hans, whispering reassurances gently into his ear. Hans did nothing but listen to her in those moments, until he finally let himself relax and uncurl his hunched up body. At his small revival, Althea continued with a reassuring smile on her face.

“But then, despite the guilt he felt, Daemon decided he wasn’t going to let me drown in the darkness. He said he can’t stand to watch me wither away. He told me he was going to fix this and make it up to me in any way he could.” Althea’s smile grew as the misery of the past faded away.

“And so, he began to coach me, trying his hardest to help me adjust to my new way of life. He helped me learn how to use a guide cane. He trained me in recognizing different objects through sounds, textures, and shapes. He even went as far as to hire a blind teacher to help me when he felt he couldn’t.” The mood of her visitors lightened with hers, smiles reappearing at Daemon’s determination to help his dear friend.

“We learned Braille together. Within a year, he could read and write in Braille through sight, while I could through touch.”

“In the years following my injury, he rarely ever left my side, always there for me. In two years’ time, he had given me my life back again. With his encouragement and support, I was living again. I was running, playing, cooking, reading! I was even painting again, my life’s joy! I would paint a canvas and Daemon, having painted with me for years, would correct my mistakes when I made them. It wasn’t long before I knew how to paint through feel and technique alone!” Althea threw out her hands, gesturing to the walls.

“In fact, many of these paintings here were made after I was blinded.” Both the girl and the nutcracker did a double take in disbelief. Their eyes darted around the room, taking in the near-perfect details of mountains, forests, lakes, and plants.

“Wow . . .” Both of them breathed out in admiration. Althea gave them a full smile, nodding her head in thanks.

“Thank you! . . . and I also thank Daemon.” Once more, her figurative gaze was drawn to the nutcracker’s portrait, her smile gentle.

“It was Daemon who taught me that my scars, my loss, didn’t define me. Who I was, and who I could be, didn’t change when I lost my eyesight. For even within a curse, there are blessings to be found.” Her choice of words caught Hans by surprise. He begin to ponder what she meant by that. Althea pressed forward.

“It was two years after I lost my eyesight that I realized something. Something that had been growing and growing with every kind word and selfless act on Daemon’s part. With everything we did together.” Clara had a clue on what she was going to say when a light blush appeared beneath the edge of Althea’s blindfold. Clara held her breath in anticipation as Althea’s smile grew loving.

“I realized . . . that I had fallen in love with him.”

Hans was astonished, the nutcracker preforming yet another double take.

Clara was ecstatic. She leaned forward, nearly holding herself up on Hans’ shoulder.

“Really?” Her wonder-filled tone and close proximity had Hans casting a conflicted glance at her, a light blush forming on his own face. Althea breathed out a giggle in amusement at the girl’s excitement. Obviously, she had a soft spot for romantic stories.

“Oh yes, my dear. I was. It took a whole week for me to tell him and I had spent that week stumbling and weaving around him so much in my nervousness that he began to think something was wrong!” Clara responded with alarm, letting out a soft, dismayed, “Oh, no!”

The old painter shook her head as she started to chuckle at Clara’s investment in her story. It didn’t help that Hans was suddenly so nervous with his current predicament.

However, as she kept explaining, her laughter died down and she took on a sadder look.

“Actually, the only reason I confessed at all was because he cornered me one day, pleading for me to tell him why I was acting that way towards him. The problem was, I didn’t think he would feel the same. He was my best friend and he had done so much for me . . . but that didn’t mean he loved me that way. After all, I was just a little, peasant girl with dead eyes and a mangled face, while he was a literal knight-in-shining-armor! Someone like him deserved someone better.” She gave a small laugh, but there was no humor to be found.

“I had also managed to convince myself that he wouldn’t want to be romantically involved with a human. Such relationships between dolls and humans were rare, even to this day.” Clara was too focused on Althea, concerned by her past doubts, to notice Hans flinching at Althea’s words. They all went silent, the duo unsure of what to do next.

“So . . . what happened?” Clara cautiously asked, her curiosity getting the best of her. Althea took a moment to collect her thoughts before answering her.

“He sounded so upset. I had to tell him! And when I finally did, he went silent. He didn’t speak. I didn’t hear a single part of him move. He just went as still as a statue . . .” Both Hans and Clara watched as her somber expression suddenly brighten, her smile returning once more.

“Then . . . one moment, I was apologizing for upsetting him with my confession, and then the next, he was kissing me.” Clara gasped, thrilled by the outcome. Hans looked struck between being happy for Althea and being exceedingly nervous, glancing back at the woman perching on his shoulder.

“He told me that he loved me too. Me! He said he had for some time, but he never thought that I would feel the same way for a nutcracker like him.” Hans and Clara both paused, then glanced at each other, their eyes meeting with a swirl of emotions. Once they realized that they were staring at each other, they immediately turned away, light blushes decorating their faces. Clara carefully moved back to lean against the wall again, leaving Hans’ shoulder. The nutcracker found himself mourning the loss.

Althea, however, was lost in her memories, happily remembering that day. Daemon had held her close, careful not to hurt her with the hard edges of his armor. She had wished so much to see his face, to see the love in his eyes. Instead, she had had to settle for feeling his expression, her hands gently moving across his wooden face to identify the lifted eyebrows and the curve of his soft smile. She had listened to the tender rumble of his voice as he gently took one of hands from his face to hold it in his larger one, their fingers intertwining. Her heart had been so full that day, so close to bursting. She had said as much to him and he gave her an affectionate laugh in return. He admitted to having the same feeling within his own chest, where his heart would be.

“He took me home that night and asked my father for permission to court me. My family was an understanding one and they all had known Daemon for years, so it wasn’t hard for my father to agree.” Althea leaned on her hand, her elbow on the arm of her chair, as she lost herself in affectionate memories.

“For over a year, the both of us were in heaven. Nothing in the world felt as good as being in his arms, and I could tell he felt the same.” The warmth suddenly drained from Althea’s voice, replaced with a dread from the past.

“But not long after we started our courtship, the reports began coming in.” Her grave tone gave her the full attention of her listeners, alarmed by what could be coming next.

“Travelers and traders passing through our village were bringing news of nutcrackers . . . disappearing.” Her audience regarded her with wide eyes. In response, her hand swept through the air in a wide arc.

“From all over the kingdom, they would vanish without a trace. It had actually been happening for several years, but at that point, the number of disappearances was starting to become troubling. About one or two every few weeks. And as time went on, the disappearances became even more frequent. After about a year, a nutcracker would be vanishing nearly every day. The kingdom was in a panic over what could be happening.” Hans and Clara’s troubled looks transformed into concern when despair began to creep into Althea’s countenance.

“I was so frightened that one day I would wake up and Daemon would be gone too. I pleaded with him, told him that I didn’t want him to leave. He promised me that he wouldn’t. He told me that he could never leave me behind.” Suddenly, Althea’s body sagged in her chair like a puppet with its strings cut, a deep sadness washing over her. She was silent, an age old misery preventing her from continuing.

Clara and Hans easily guessed the truth. Sympathy dominated their faces as Clara came forward once again, seating herself on the edge of the bed. Subconsciously, she grabbed onto Hans’ arm. Hans let her as she voiced their thoughts in a sad tone.

“But he did . . .”

Althea nodded her head, her hands clenched together as she battled through her sorrow.

“One day, he vanished . . . just like all the others. We searched his home and found that all of his things were still there. Even his books were still open on his desk. It was like he just . . . got up and left.” Her teeth clenched, Althea fought the grief building up inside.

For she could produce no tears to shed the pain with.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself. With an exhausted flare of her hand, she gestured back up at the painting.

“We searched his home only after I found that painting, sitting on my doorstep that morning. I knew something was wrong the moment I picked it up and I rushed to his abode to see if he was alright . . . that's how we found out.” She continued as the two looked back up at the artwork, seeing it in a new light.

“He had been one of the last remaining nutcrackers at the time. It was only a few days later that every known nutcracker had been reported missing. An entire race of dolls just . . . gone.” Althea sighed in defeat, frustrated at her past self.

“Looking back on it . . . he had sounded . . . sad . . . when he made me that promise. But I thought he was just being concerned for me. I think he knew what was happening, what was going to happen, but he didn’t want to upset me . . . or perhaps . . . he wanted to spare me of some horrible knowledge.” The old woman shook her head and straightened her body, determination overtaking her.

“But I had to know. I had to know why he was gone, why they were all gone.” Sadness persisted in her voice.

“I had to find him. I had to know he was alright.”

She turned her attention to her guests, their attention on her as well. Clara’s attention diverted to Hans for only a moment, Althea’s words ringing in her ears, before focusing on Althea once again as the woman continued.

“I left everything behind; my family, my friends, my home. I started traveling all over the kingdom searching for answers. I knew in my heart that Daemon would never have left our village willingly, not without good reason. He may not have told anyone why, but maybe some other nutcrackers had.”

“For years . . . for decades, I traveled these lands and beyond, searching for a trail that would lead me to my nutcracker. In those years, I found an empire struggling to recover. Military command had broken down and had to be reformed. The royal family was in the mist of upheaval with their fractured army and a king with a terminal illness. Humans and dolls from all over dreaded that they would be the next to disappear. Panic and grief and anger ruled the land for a long time.”

Both girl and nutcracker listened intensely, engrossed in this history that they had known little about. Even Hans, who had been born into this world, had never heard this many details on the events of the previous king’s reign.

“In those troubling years, I visited many families in search for information on the nutcrackers. I always asked if they had any clue of where they had all gone.” Disappointment appeared in her expression, her determination within the tale weakening.

“The answer was always no. The nutcrackers they had known, who had been their colleagues, their friends, and even their family, had told them nothing. None of them had given any sign of knowing what was happening. Countless had been afraid of disappearing.” Her sad tone remained as she thought back to all the grief and sad confusion she had encountered in those times, remembering all those voices.

“So many of them had been loved by their people. It broke the hearts of many to think that they might never be seen again.” A tired tremble entered her voice.

“It’s been over sixty years, and to this day I’m still searching for answers, still looking for Daemon. My adventuring days are long over, but I am always asking and always listening. For all I can do now . . . is wait. Wait for him to return.” Her next statement was barely more than a whisper.

“All I want is for him to come home . . . to hear his voice again . . .” Althea once more sank into her seat with her head bowed, tired from a lifetime of disappointments.

“But Daemon . . . or any nutcracker . . . has not been seen since . . .”

Her head lifted, her dead, covered eyes aimed right at Hans.

“Until you arrived.”

Hans’ eyes widened. All three of them fell dead silent, Althea’s tale coming to a close. Hans and Clara sat still in their seats, lost in their thoughts and thinking over the things they’d heard. Old Althea leaned her head back against her chair, emotionally exhausted from her trip down Memory Lane.

Clara glanced up at her, uncertainty painting her eyes. Sharing a quick look with Hans, Clara broke the silence.

“Um . . . Althea? I’m a little confused about something . . . If the nutcrackers were so loved, than why haven’t we seen or heard about any of this? Wouldn’t they be talked about more? And . . . and why do some people look at Hans like . . . like he’s . . .” She didn’t want to say it, not in front of him. She didn’t want to remind him, but it felt important to ask.

Hans’ expression turned sad and he looked down at his hands, finishing the question for her.

“Like I’m a walking curse.”

Clara grimaced and immediately leaned against his shoulder, silently supporting him. After some hesitation, Hans leaned back in return. Althea noticed the exchange and gave them a moment before answering in a soft voice.

“It was a decree.”

Their bewildered silence gave her the go-ahead to continue, explaining her statement.

“The old king was never fond of the Nutcrackers, despite the fact that they had served his family for generations. He regarded them more as loose canyons and ticking time-bombs than hard-working soldiers, mainly because of their infamous _frenzy_ condition.” Hans flinched hard at her last words, understanding what her last words meant. Clara understood as well and placed her hand on top of his. Only an hour before had they come close to another live demonstration. Althea’s pause gave them time to refocus on her before she continued.

“When they vanished, the chaos of his kingdom turned his dislike into hatred. He was convinced that the Nutcrackers were traitors and deserters, responsible for all the trouble in his lands. He figured that if the Nutcrackers didn’t want to be a part of his kingdom anymore, to abandon them, then so be it.”

“He banned any public display or support of the Nutcrackers, and warranted the arrest of any nutcracker found alive. He had royal documents and public texts wiped of any mention of the Nutcrackers. What little information he allowed to the public painted them all as monsters and cowards, a race of toys that were useless unless biting someone’s head off.”

Althea’s lip curled, hitched in annoyance.

“He even groomed his own, 8-year-old son to loath the Nutcracker line as well, a hatred that continued into his kingship and even into his daughter. And unfortunately, there were others who shared the old king’s view, many feeling betrayed. They taught their fear and hatred to their children as well. Now, the Nutcracker name has been soiled with tales of uselessness, cowardice, and monstrous rages, things that had not at all common with those real-life heroes.” The woman grimaced in disappointed dejection.

“To this day, it still pains me to see these younger generations believing such horrible words.”

Hans flinched again, but this time, it was in shame. His head and shoulders slumped forward in the guilt. He had heard talk about nutcrackers a few times before in his life, but little of it had been anything good. The tamest comments had been how they were basically useless once hand-held nutcrackers came along. Hans had never paid much attention to talk about the nutcrackers, but what little he had heard he had just accepted as truth. Without any other evidence or the desire to investigate further, he had been just like everyone else, accepting nutcrackers as piece of history that was best left forgotten.

While he sat in shame, Clara was looking between the two of them in dismay. She could barely keep herself from shouting in outrage.

“That’s . . . that’s horrible! He should have been trying to find them, not condemning them! Why would he do something like that?” Her hand on top of Hans’ slid forward to push her fingers between Hans’. Hans looked up at her as Althea answered.

“Cracking nuts was obviously not the only purpose of a nutcracker. Many tended to be soldiers, yes, but more than anything they were soldiers of the people. They were the guardians of the weak and the innocent, an honorable and righteous order pledged to the people’s protection. They dictated their lives to protecting this kingdom and its people. This was unlike the majority of toy soldiers, who tended to dictate themselves solely to the royal family and their decrees. Nutcrackers, however, were known to go against orders if those orders meant endangering the common folk even slightly. Their loyalty to the people was unmatched. However, this loyalty made their inclusion in the kingdom’s military troublesome for the royal family throughout the years, but the royalty could not afford to turn down their manpower. The dedication of the Nutcrackers made them mighty warriors against the selfish hordes of bandits and mice, making them indispensable.” There was awe and admiration growing in the wide eyes of brown and gold, both imagining such noble beings. Clara turned to Hans and took in his appearance, imagining him amongst such beings. She found the idea very easy to conjure up.

“When the Nutcrackers vanished, a vital chunk of the kingdom’s military no longer existed. The chain-of-command within the Guard and the King’s Army were in disarray. The people were panicking over an invisible enemy. The kingdom became vulnerable . . . and that gave the Mouse Queen the perfect chance to invade.”

All wonderment and imagination stopped. Both stared with wide eyes, Hans’ mouth hanging open. Althea seemed to miss their reactions, proceeding on unhindered.

“However, at the time, the Mouse Queen’s forces had very nearly been wiped out, small and weak from years of losses against the Nutcracker Regiment. In addition, our kingdom still had just enough formidable fighters left to combat her, should she decide to commence a full-on assault with the last of her army.” Althea brought her hands together, fingertips pressing against each other.

“So, she decided to have patience and take her prize piece by piece, letting her mice seep their way into the kingdom over the next few decades. At first, they built tunnels under many towns, using them to sneak in and out, and steal what they wanted without being seen. But as time passed, they grew in numbers and confidence, and began to harass villages and rampage through farms and mills. Our soldiers and guards tried to keep them under control over the years, without the Nutcrackers. After a while, it looked like they might succeed. The threat of mice suddenly began to recede from our lives.” She scowled.

“But we were wrong. The mice had been laying low because they had finally managed to infiltrate the very heart of our kingdom. Just several years ago, it was revealed that the Mouse Queen herself had been living in our own castle for several years, building her army under the palace’s very stones for a final strike.”

Hans tensed as her words brought back memories. He was there, after the mice had been discovered. He had watched the guards patrol for the mice and had helped his uncle design the traps, large and small, that had been used to capture many of them. He had also been there during the Princess’s curse . . . and for its breakage. Althea, her senses trained on Hans, noted the tension and guessed his thoughts.

“I’m sure you know the rest of the story . . . the Queen discovered the mice in the castle and the soldiers and Royal Clockmaker began to eradicate them. To distract the King from her plans, the Mouse Queen cursed the Princess, leaving them to worry about the cure. Then some time later, she was killed and her son rampaged through our kingdom in revenge, finishing what his mother had started and conquering these lands at last for his nasty species.”

She opened her arms, hands sweeping out to her sides. The action made sure that she had their undivided attention as she proceeded.

“Do you see now, young ones? The Nutcrackers were what kept the mice at bay for centuries. They were the Mouse Royal Family’s worst enemy, even going as far as to have slain the previous Mouse King right before their disappearance, leaving his newborn son without a father. The Mouse Queen loathed and feared them for all they had done to her and her kind. Without the Nutcrackers to stop her, she could finally have her revenge and take the lands that she and her family had so desperately desired. And the old king and his son hated the Nutcrackers for giving her that chance.”

Once again, Althea went silent, her speech at its end. Her two guests were left to take in all they had heard once more. Clara was looking thoughtfully down at her lap, trying to piece this new information in with the story that both Hans and Uncle Drosselmeyer had told her about Hans’ curse.

Said nutcracker, however, was staring down at his hands, mainly the one that Clara’s hand was embracing. He surveyed their differences, confirming for the umpteenth time that he was no longer human . . . and might never be again. Before, it had made some form of sense, condemning him to an unfamiliar, worthless, unfeeling body. Stealing all that he was and leaving him with nothing.

But with this concealed history revealed, he didn’t know what to think. He was so confused, his perception of the world coming unhinged. He didn’t notice that he had begun to shake.

“But . . . if . . . if nutcrackers were the Mouse Queen’s sworn enemy, then . . . then why . . .?”

He continued shaking, his mind so utterly addled. Clara held on to him in concern, but she was curious about the answer as well. She looked to Althea and the blind woman looked back, in her way. She leaned forward as if to reach out and touch the nutcracker, but her hand merely hovered in the air in a calming gesture as she explained.

“Magic cast from a dying breath can be very powerful, but also very unstable. It is possible that the Mouse Queen sought to change you into something else . . . perhaps even destroy you. However, the fear and pain she must have felt in her final moments must have brought forth some terrible memories for her . . . and with them, her greatest fear.”

Hans froze. Clara froze. Althea carried on in a hushed tone.

“The return of the Nutcrackers.”

She retreated once more into her seat, turning her head to her prized portrait as she whispered gently to herself.

“It’s poetic . . . isn’t it Daemon?”

The painting gave no answer, but another nutcracker did. Hans shot to his feet, his face unsettled. Clara started at the sudden movement, her hand disconnecting from his.

“How . . . how do you know all this?! About m-my curse and-and about the mice?!” Hans’ voice was nearly hysterical. No one but himself, Clara and Uncle Drosselmeyer knew about his curse and how it happened. No one had even bothered to ask! Everyone else thought he was, and always had been, a real nutcracker! How did this complete stranger know so much? About everything?!

While Clara stand up to try calming the unnerved nutcracker, Althea regarded him with patience. Wanting to soothe his distress as well, she calmly answered him.

“I listen, my boy, and I listen well. To the words of all who can speak, be it rodent, toy, human, whoever. I listen until I know what is true, and then I listen some more!” She shrugged, compliant.

“It helps that I was there for some of it as well.” She carefully rose from her seat, groaning at the ache of her old bones. After cracking her spine a bit, she slowly approached the nutcracker, mindful of his unease. When he tensed, but made no move against her, she lay a hand on his chest.

“I have also learned and mastered many things while on my travels, keeping with Daemon’s desire for me to continue enjoying and experiencing life.” With a feather-light touch, she moved her hand to the royal insignia craved on his chest.

“One of the things I learned is the sensing and feeling of energies . . . of auras and magic.” She withdrew her hand and those with seeing eyes gasped as a wisp of what looked to be dark purple smoke followed after her fingers. The small trail disappeared in seconds, but the impact of its presence had stunned the pair into stillness, shock and fear painting their faces.

“I have learned to read these energies. By reading them, I can sense a person’s personality, their emotions, and their intent.” She brought her hand before her face, as if to examine it. She sniffed the air, grimacing at something foul.

“This magic smells of death . . . and a deep hatred, with the telltale signature of the Mouse Queen’s power. A transformation spell, casted on a dying breath.” With her raised hand, she reached out to Clara. Hans was immediately defensive, keeping Clara close to his side. However, he let the woman proceed, keeping a watchful eye as her hand as it hovered over Clara’s necklace.

“You have a spell about you as well. It is not nearly as powerful as the Mouse Queen’s, but it does have the stench of her son about it. It is also not a transformation spell. It is a mouse favorite, a size-based spell.” Both Hans and Clara were awed by her accuracy. They continued to watch as Althea’s hand lingered over Clara’s neck for a moment before moving down. Althea slowly crouched to follow her hand to the floor. It stopped over Clara’s foot.

“The magic is centralized here . . .” At her statement, Clara nervously answered.

“The . . . uh . . . the Mouse King bit me there . . .” Clara looked off to the side while Hans glowered at her foot, at the spot where the bite-mark was hidden behind her boot. Huffing as she rose up again, Althea eyed the area with a disgusted look.

“A bite?! For a resizing spell? How vulgar! What a crude way to cast any spell! He definitely has very little talent with magic, that’s for sure.” Clara couldn’t help but giggle at that statement. Hans relaxed at the sound, chuckling a bit himself. Satisfied that the tense mood was lifting, Althea stepped away to give them room to breathe.

“Well, no matter how the spells were cast, it seems that your best option for breaking them would be the cutting off of the life-force powering them, in this case, the death of the last of the Mouse Royal bloodline.” Althea smiled, pleased with their luck.

“Your new form should come in handy for such a monumental task.”

Shock and disbelief colored Hans’ whole image as he turned to Althea.

“W-What? What makes you say that?” In this form, he was next to useless! How could him being a nutcracker be of any use? Knowing his thoughts, Althea’s expression became slightly irritated.

“Were you not listening, boy? Did you not hear my explanation of what the Nutcrackers were?” Hans quickly nodded his head at her annoyed tone.

“I . . . I did, but . . . I’m . . . I’m not a REAL nutcracker. I’m . . . I’m not like them.” His words ended in a near whisper, sounding dejected. A part of him, the part that only wanted to make everything right again, wished he was, if only to get them through this safe and sound.

Clara surveyed Hans’ downtrodden figure and was about to argue that he was, he was like them! However, their blind host beat her to it.

“Tell me, Hans the Nutcracker, are you currently . . . a nutcracker?” Hans blinked. What kind of question was that? The answer was simple, and yet it still hurt Hans to say it.

“Y-Yes.” He barely had the word out before Althea questioned him again.

“Do you fight to protect others? Do you have the willingness to put your life on the line to save those you love?” Hans glanced down at Clara, meeting her eyes as she stared back. Another obvious answer.

“Y-Yes, but—“ He didn’t get to finish as Althea turned to Clara with her next inquiry.

“Has he shown courage and bravery in the face of daunting odds, in order to protect and to fight for what he believes is right?” Clara only paused to confirm that the question was meant for her before immediately answering.

“Yes.” Hans turned to her in incredulity. Althea grinned as she asked Clara her last question.

“Do the Mouse King’s minions cower before him?” Clara giggled, instantly remembering the times when mice had run for their lives before the sight of Hans’ towering frame and angered scowl.

“Yes, they do!” Well pleased, Althea turned back to the stunned nutcracker.

“Well then, Hans, from what I can tell, temporary or not, born or not, you ARE one of the Nutcrackers.” The statement didn’t seem to be as reassuring as she had hoped. He kept looking down at himself, a troubled air about him. With a sigh, Althea reached out.

“Hans . . .” Her hand met his shoulder, his body jumping slightly at the touch. She had his attention. She smiled gently at him.

“For the time being, you are in possession of a great and noble heritage. Until this curse is lifted, their shape . . . their goals . . . their very lives live on in you. Carry them with pride to the end of your journey. When you find the cause worth fighting for, you will find your strength and courage to be unmatched, to be that of a true Nutcracker.”

To his credit, Hans tried to look encouraged, to smile, but the effort seemed to be a losing battle. Uncertainty still clouded his mind.

“I . . . it’s . . . it’s just . . . I don’t . . .” He took a breath and sighed.

“I don’t know how to . . . t-to live up to them. I . . . I never wanted this. I don’t . . . I don’t LIKE being cursed as a nutcracker. I feel . . . I . . . I can barely feel anything. I can’t move the way I used to! Everything just feels . . . wrong.” Althea nodded her head in understanding.

“I suppose it would, being forced to take on a strange shape, similar yet completely different to what you were before. However, I think it would be wise to consider this form as less of a curse . . . and more of a blessing in disguise.” Once again, the blind painter had managed to leave him baffled. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long for an explanation, Althea sensing his confusion.

“The Mouse Queen has inadvertently given you a fighting chance against her son, her own kind. This body that you regard as a cage can also become your key, the rescuer of us all! As a nutcracker, you have several advantages to help you succeed.” She took her hand and gingerly used it to lift Hans’ left arm.

“You have the strength of ten men . . .”

She lightly tapped his jaw, making him recoil slightly.

“. . . the strongest bite of any doll, human, or creature. A final defense . . .”

She swept her arm out to gesture to his arms and legs as a whole.

“. . . a near limitless supply of stamina . . .”

Her hand returned to his arm, running her fingers along the dried resin of a particularly deep cut.

“. . . a wooden hide instead of flesh, capable of withstanding blows and threats that would easily cripple or even finish a human . . .” Hans’ eyes followed her hand’s motion, his eyes becoming thoughtful. Taking her hand away, she stepped back and gestured to all of him with another grin.

“. . . and, thanks to your current lineage, the rats are instinctively terrified of you.” Another round of soft laughter filled the room, mostly from Clara with some weak chuckles from the nutcracker himself. Althea allowed them the moment before dropping an important observation.

“If I may be so bold to say, it is very likely that had you remained human . . .” Her serious demeanor stopped all remaining laughter.

“Both of you would be long dead by now.”

The weight of her words brought everything into perspective. Both of them remembered all those times they had nearly died. Clara recalled all those injuries and attacks Hans had endured to protect them, winching at the thought of him taking such blows as a human. Hans vividly remembered that first night, when he nearly had his head chopped off. A wild instinct and a steel-shattering bite force were what had saved him, sending the Mouse King fleeing with a chuck missing from his shoulder. Even with all the times his body had been a hindrance, could they have survived any part of their journey if he hadn’t been cursed? Both were not so sure.

The dreary silence that followed triggered Althea’s solemn demeanor to evaporate, leaving behind a wave of compassion. Approaching Hans once more, she laid a fragile hand on his massive forearm, smiling softly at him when he tensed.

“You are allowed to mourn for your humanity, Hans, and for your once, peaceful life. But you must take heart. This body is still yours, my boy. It has not been replaced by another. It is merely in an alternate state, the reality of your body had you been born of the Nutcrackers instead of humanity. It is still yours to command, but first you must understand it, learn it just as you learned its original version. Just as other nutcrackers had to learn their bodies, as every form of life must.” With her words, Hans found himself contemplating his wooden body once more, feeling slightly more hopeful. Maybe . . . maybe she was right? Could this body become less unnatural to him, if he stopped to figure out how it worked? Did he have the time, the patience? Would it be too difficult for him?

Althea seemed to pick up on his growing doubts, threating to drown his small amount of hope. Althea carried on.

“Let me give you an example; a function that I saw Daemon put to use in some of his attacks.” Althea’s other hand joined the one on Hans’ arm, griping his forearm between her hands. She angled her face up to Hans’, expression asking permission. Nervously, Hans nodded.

“Relax and try to keep your arm limp. This will not hurt you, it is quite natural for this body, but it is easier for me to move if you do not tense.” Gulping, Hans nodded again, trying to calm himself as much as possible. Clara watched curiously.

Althea straightened his arm out. Very slowly, she began to turn his forearm. Once she got to the point where there was a hitch, the point where a human arm would not be able to turn any farther, she quickly jerked it around.

Both of them tensed when Hans’ forearm did a complete 360, rotating back into its first position with a series of clicks. Hans stared at his arm like he expected it to fall off. After a pause, Althea slowly lead it through another rotation before stepping away.

Hans stared at it for a long moment before moving his arm very slowly. He stopped at the hitch, his arm’s former limit. With a sharp breath, he forced it past the point. The arm obediently spun around and stopped at his startled command with his palm up. Althea smiled.

“You can also rotate your shoulders, your neck, and torso completely around as well. Daemon would use this ability to become a cyclone of attacks and defenses, no piece of him left unguarded.”

Both couldn’t speak after that, gaping at her. Hans frantically looked down at his body slightly paranoid of its hidden capabilities, mostly at the implication that he could twist his whole torso around. Not to mention his head . . .

Althea called his attention back with more advice.

“When it comes to your body, it would be best to stop trying to make it human and accept it for what it is. Only when the mind accepts the body does the body submit to the mind. And only then will you succeed in getting your humanity back.”

She smiled gently at them both, her hands reaching out to calm them both.

“This journey you are on may be difficult and dangerous, but like all journeys in life, it is also a collection of lessons and challenges. On this path, in this shape, you will learn just how capable you are, how strong and resourceful you can be. You will find out just how much you are worth.” The determination and pride in her voice astounded the nutcracker. He tried to speak, to voice his skepticism and fear, but he could not come up with the words. However, Althea picked out his uncertainty very quickly, smiling.

“But . . . should you still doubt yourself . . . or find yourself unable to continue . . .” She turned to the red-haired maiden beside them, her voice wise and confident.

“She is here by no accident. She is here to show you the way, to strengthen you as Daemon once did for me.” Althea’s hand flew out to Daemon’s painted image, the painting’s eyes staring back at them with a compassionate ambience. Under her old partner’s kind gaze, the old woman went on.

“As she is dear to you, you are dear to her. She will support you as you have her. She will not fail you, just as you will not fail her. As one, you have already conquered many obstacles and, as one, you will continue to do so.”

Clara was surprised by her remarks, but she made no effort to object. In fact, she instead turned to Hans, her shoulders squared. Confidence overtaking her unease, she smiled up at him, her eyes aflame with acceptance and determination. She reach out and grabbed hold of his hand, squeezing tightly so he could feel it and know that she agreed with Althea. She was ready and willing to help him in any way she could, just as she trusted him to do the same.

Hans stared back at her, stunned by her confidence and her willingness to support him. Then again, she had shown the same sentiment time and time again, throughout their adventure. In fact, it was only a short time earlier that she had said as much, offering to carry his burdens and vowing to remain by his side. He shouldn’t be surprised by now, and yet it still shocked him just how selfless and amazing this girl was.

The uneasiness suddenly drained from him. Unable to resist, he returned her smile and squeezed her hand back. A warm, radiating feeling began to grow where his heart should be. Already, because of her dedication to him and him to her, he has feeling stronger, more sure of himself. Despite what he was and all that had happened to them, they were still here, still together, still with a fighting chance. Perhaps Althea was right . . .

Feeling the rising air of renewed hope, Althea stepped back and regarded them both with a pleased expression, voice soft and inspired.

“You will go together with understanding of yourselves and those around you. You will discover who you are and who you can be, as you walk the path of the noble Nutcrackers to meet your enemy. And when you reach your odyssey’s end, the both of you will be wiser, stronger, and so much more than you were before.”

She lifted her hands to them, gesturing to them as if for the world to behold. Pride filled the air around her as she spoke.

“Side by side, you will become the human legacy of the Lost Nutcrackers. You will be victorious!”

Those words seemed to echo around the room, replaying in all their heads. Silence once more reined amongst the three as the meanings behind the words settled around them. There may still be some uncertainty and worry, but there was also a renewed sense of purpose and trust.

It was in this calm quiet that Althea noticed her body protesting in pain and tiredness, the adrenaline of her teachings wearing off. Snuffing a small groan, she gave her guests a resigned sigh.

“It is late and I fear my words have ravaged this old jaw of mine.” It was true, her speeches had worked her jaw muscles to their limit, the ache nearly making her wince. Rubbing her cheek, Althea turned to Hans with a weak smirk across her lips.

“Makes me wish I had your jaw, nutcracker. I could talk for days with that!” Her audience responded with lighthearted laughter. Chuckling herself, Althea spoke to Clara first, then back to Hans.

“Clara, you may sleep here tonight. Hans, you may stay here if Clara wishes it, or rest in one of the seats in the main room. In fact, you may go wherever you wish.” Both nodded their heads.

“If you would like, Clara, I could fetch you some spare clothes for you to wear to bed and for you in the morning.” Althea politely offered. Clara perked up and quickly gestured to the messenger bag on the cot beside her, placed there by Hans before her arm had been treated.

“Oh, I have a nightdress with me I could use, but a spare dress for tomorrow would be nice.” Althea nodded in agreement.

“Very well. I will be right back.”

She left them to themselves for the moment as she journeyed to her storage room. Going through her old things, she found an outfit that should fit a woman of Clara’s size. It was a deep purple robe dress with long, wide sleeves and laced front. It had been a favorite of hers back in the day and it was still in good condition. Content with her selection, she made her way back to her alchemy room.

Upon her return, her visitors had once again seated themselves, Clara on the cot and Hans in his chair. Clara had already removed her boots, belt, and gloves and set them aside. Both of them were eyeing the ripped section of her sleeve when Althea shuffled over and handed Clara her dress for tomorrow.

“Here you go, my dear.”

“Oh, it’s lovely! Thank you very much, Althea.” The girl delicately transferred the dress to the side table, right beside the nightdress that she had fished from her bag. Her task complete, Althea smiled at the both of them and gave them a small bow of farewell.

“Now I must bid you goodnight. I hope your dreams will be pleasant and of better days.” Straightening from her bow, she turned away and headed for the door.

“Thank you and goodnight!” Clara’s call widened Althea’s smile as she walked away. However, she did not quite make it to the door before she heard footsteps approaching and felt a large hand gently grab hold of her arm.

“Wait . . .” His low voice came out as a small plea. She turned her head to him, waiting.

“Thank you . . . and I’m sorry.” There was gratitude and sympathy in his tone. One for her help and one for her loss. She turned to him, smile comforting and a small bit sad. She lay for hand on his as Clara watched with much the same emotions. The blind woman nodded to the nutcracker, accepting his empathy.

“All I ask of you, nutcracker, is to always remember the truth. Remember them as the heroes they were and believe in yourself as the hero you can be.” Leaning around Hans’ massive frame, she called over to Clara.

“That goes for you too, my dear.” Clara giggled and nodded her head in affirmation.

Althea then gave Hans an encouraging smile and she was relieved to sense that his aura was much calmer and not nearly as uncertain as before. She could tell he was smiling back. She could tell that they were going to be okay.

After casting one last smile to Clara, and to the guardian image above her, she turned and left the room.

Gently closing the door behind her, Althea sighed out a tired breath. At the sound of her guests beginning to converse behind the door, she shuffled away, wanting to give them some form of privacy from her advanced hearing.

With aching bones, she slowly made her way to her front door and out onto her small porch.

The song of the night greeted her, as it had so many times before. She stood there, feeling the gentle wind caress her battered face and listening to the crickets sing their endless love songs.

A warm, gentle night beneath these trees. Such a time brought with it so many powerful memories of stargazing together and walking hand-in-hand amongst the fireflies. Too many memories for her old heart to take.

Tonight, her past had been thrown at her in the form of a reincarnation. She had seen it, heard it, and sensed it with her own heart. Once more, there was to be a girl and a nutcracker, together with an eternal love growing between them. For Althea, it was a heartwarming and bittersweet knowledge. She only hoped this story would not have a similar ending to hers.

Reaching beneath the collar of her robes, she carefully pulled out the locket around her neck. She ran a thumb over the patterned surface, the engraving that of a bouquet of tulips and primroses. It had been her mother’s, a gift from her father on the day of their engagement. It had been passed on to Althea by her mother as she lay on her deathbed, just before she followed her father into oblivion.

Within this precious family heirloom, there rested a small, burnt piece of thick paper. Imbedded on this paper was a single word written in Braille.

Opening the locket, she gently ran her finger across its surface, the bumps nearly weathered smooth from years of being touched.

It was all that remained of the hidden message that she had found tucked behind Daemon’s portrait, all those years ago. The one word upon it was the only physical piece left of that short, simple poem that had kept her going every day, ever since the other half of her soul was stolen away.

She ran her finger across the word again, whispering the prayer that she had repeated to the paper shard every time she touch it.

“I miss you so much . . .”

Her hand curled tightly around the locket, clenching it like a lifeline. In a way, she figured it was.

“. . . but if I must . . .”

Her fingers closed the locket once more, protecting her greatest and last hope.

“I will wait for you forever . . .”

To her, her own whispered words seemed to echo through the trees, searching for their recipient. However, like the thousands before, the words brought back no answer. Nothing but the progressing world, moving on without her nutcracker.

She took a deep inhale of the night air and sagged on her feet, leaning heavily against one of the porch posts. She could feel her age catching up to her, her energy leaving her much quicker than it ever had before.

It would be soon. Soon, her muscles would be too tired to move her, her bones too weary to carry her, her heart too exhausted to keep her.

She had lived a long life, full of adventure and love and misery and grief. It was a full life, if not the most desired one. Her only regret was that she had not been allowed to share it . . . with her beloved, white knight.

“My dear Daemon . . .” Melancholic, she brought the locket to her mouth and kissed it. Even after all this time, she could never bring herself to believe it, the grief of the possibility too much.

But she had to try. She had to give as many chances as possible to the budding love currently sheltered within her home. Even if it meant finally acknowledging that maybe he . . . he really was . . .

“Daemon . . . if . . . if y-you’re there . . . please . . . watch over them . . . help them find a better fate than what was given to us.”

Silence was her answer.

As it always had been.

And yet . . . within the night’s lullaby . . . she could hear a change in the rhythm. There, out of place within the forest’s melody, was the fluttering of heavy cloth caught in a wild wind, the soft clack of metal . . . and the faintest of heavy footsteps from long ago.

From behind her blindfold, Althea opened her dead eyes . . . and she gasped when she saw them.

Colors. For the first time in _years_ , there was color.

Innumerable shades of blue and shining white painted the black in smoke-like patterns, each caught in a beautiful dance. Gold flicks sparkled off the tall, hazy shape that the smoky trails were trying to form. Mesmerizing, light purple wisps floated around the figure like fireflies. And within the cloud of colors, bright blue orbs, glowing with light, stared back at her with warmth and love.

She could feel him smiling . . .

She could hear his gentle laughter again . . .

And then, there was nothing. She was left once more within the darkness . . . hearing only the eternal chorus of those fateful woods . . . hanging on to that long-remembered promise.

_One day, when mistakes are put to right,_

_and our story comes to an end,_

_I promise you, my love,_

_we will be together again._

**Author's Note:**

> As you can see, I added a little bit of backstory for the mice as well, but it’s a bit vague. I basically imagine the mice as being to the doll kingdom as the Huns are to China in Mulan; always trying to get in, pillage, and take over. I also imagine the Mouse Queen as acting and sounding a lot like Zira from The Lion King 2. :P
> 
> There is also some backstory on the King and his family. I felt like the King needed a bit more reason to be so furious at being “tricked,” since he rules a kingdom of dolls and humans, right? Why so distant with the dolls, half his loyal subjects? Especially if they tend to be stronger than humans, some more capable of cracking the hardest nut. I know there’s the whole marrying his daughter off thing (which he could have just promised a fortune instead and then included the dolls), but I feel like Hans would have told the King before cracking the nut that he didn’t want the princess’s hand, that he just wanted to help. So, at that point, Hans turning into a nutcracker before his eyes shouldn’t have set him off so badly, even if Hans didn’t tell him that little tidbit. So, I gave the King another reason to be so enraged at finding a nutcracker had broken his daughter’s curse. The reason is . . . he hates nutcrackers, same as his late father. Simple as that. That would also make the nut-cracking method of breaking his daughter’s curse more ironic. :P
> 
> Anyway, what did ya’ll think of my nutcracker, Daemon?
> 
> Is Daemon dead and if so, how’d he die? Was Daemon really there or did Althea basically daydream about him? If he is still there, why does he linger? Will he simply watch over our two heroes, or will he somehow help them out (Maybe like the White Wolf from Balto or the Hero’s Shade from The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess)?
> 
> What happened to Daemon while he was still under the king’s command? How did the nutcrackers disappear? Are they all dead? Did Daemon know it was going to happen?
> 
> Will Althea ever met Daemon again?
> 
> Will the lost Nutcracker line get one last hurrah before disappearing forever with the breaking of Hans’ curse?
> 
> The answers are . . . for you decide.  
> Or for me to decide, if I ever get off my lazy ass.  
> Or for Shinyzango to, I don’t know . . . :P
> 
> Fun fact: The Ghost Nutcracker was a nickname/title the Daemon earned during his short time in the Nutcracker Regiment for multiple reasons. Ironic?
> 
> Bonus: I think Daemon’s armor/body would be built similar to that of the Archangel Tyrael’s armor from Diablo III, but minus the cloth parts, with blue and silver colors instead of gold, and a cape instead of wings. He also would only put his hood up when he gets into serious business. You know, for intimidation. Or when he’s being bashful. :3
> 
> THANKS FOR READING!!!!


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